“You’re very like a dog,” said Bundle. “I like dogs. They’re so friendly and faithful and warmhearted. I think that perhaps I could just bring myself to marry you, Bill—with a great effort, you know.”
Bill’s response to this was to relinquish his grasp of her and recoil violently. He looked at her with amazement in his eyes.
“Bundle—you don’t mean it?”
“There’s nothing for it,” said Bundle. “I see I shall have to relapse into unconsciousness again.”
“Bundle—darling—” Bill caught her to him. He was trembling violently. “Bundle—do you really mean it—do you?—you don’t know how much I love you.”
“Oh, Bill,” said Bundle.
There is no need to describe in detail the conversation of the next ten minutes. It consisted mostly of repetitions.
“And do you really love me?” said Bill, incredulously, for the twentieth time as he at last released her.
“Yes—yes—yes. Now do let’s be sensible. I’ve got a racking head still, and I’ve been nearly squeezed to death by you. I want to get the hang of things. Where are we and what’s happened?”
For the first time, Bundle began to take stock of her surroundings. They were in the secret room, she noted, and the baize door was closed and presumably locked. They were prisoners, then!
Bundle’s eyes came back to Bill. Quite oblivious of her question he was watching her with adoring eyes.